[closed] it took all the man in me

[anbu]

Who: Itachi Uchiha and various.
When: Aereuer 13th.
Where: Looking-Glass House.
What: Memory sharing event.
Warnings: Mass death/genocide, war themes, gore, violence, trauma, child soldiers, very sad but cute brothers. I'll update if/as other things come up.





[To the vast majority of the Mirrorbound who cross its path, Itachi's mirror is plain and unassuming, its silver surface set into a black wooden frame. They will notice complicated carvings, some strange cross between Japanese calligraphy and other, indecipherable symbols unlike language. There are only two distinct images: the first is located on the upper left corner of the mirror and features an avian animal with beady, jewel-like red eyes; the second is located on the bottom right corner and features a pinwheel design. If further investigated, it'll become obvious the mirror also carries a burnt scent, as if the wood has recently been charred by fire.

Sasuke will see a much more detailed and familiar frame. The faces of their parents; the face of Uchiha Shisui; the Mangekyou Sharingan set within the shape of an actual eyeball; Akatsuki clouds; and the Uchiha fan directly beside the leaf's symbol of Konoha. It takes no guesswork to understand who this mirror is meant to represent.]

—

[OOC: Due to this event being exposition-heavy, scene specific, and intense (as well as a desire not to get too overloaded), I will not be writing any general open prompts! This also helps me keep each thread interesting and unique. That said, I'm open to plotting something. Feel free to reference my plotting comment here so we can hash something out. I have a list of memories here, but it isn't exhaustive. I can find something else if none of these are appealing.

Starters will be posted below as I write them!]

Comments

[eyeforaneye]

[ The longer Sasuke stays within the memory, the more he regrets stepping inside that mirror at all.

His questions are answered by the quiet sliding open of the front door, something he wouldn't have detected as such a young child but is more than sharp enough to notice now. It's quietly staggering to step back – needlessly, but out of habit – in order to allow such a small boy to pass him, unable to remember a time that he didn't feel so much bigger. Older. Wiser. Unknowable in his entirety.

Now he just looks frail and tiny, purposefully clothing himself in shadow away from his younger brother's reach in a way that makes his heart sink. Fingers curl into a fist at his side as he watches him guard his expression even now, their parents leaving their gifted older son to his devices without paying mind to that tiredness they must've noticed in him when he himself was so blind to it. Predictably he trails after the boy, hesitating in the mouth of his bedroom with a new kind of trepidation. How long has it been since he's stepped foot in this room? One he intentionally locked and closed off after the massacre, continuing to live in the memories just down the hall in some masochistic tribute that had turned him cold and obsessive. ]

I didn't know, [ he says quietly to that seated boy when he finally moves inside, heavy eyes fixed on him with a heavier heart squeezing tight in his chest. Fingers reach out, almost close enough to touch, before he pulls them back. ] You gave me eight years of peace and I cursed you for that. I didn't realize how much more it was than what you had.

[ Lips part to form an apology that he ends up whispering instead to the face of a mirror.

It's only a pause of a few seconds or so before he's forcing himself to walk back in. ]

[anbu]

[Upon reentry, Sasuke is returned to the same room. Again it hangs in the shadow of night, windowpanes grey, a quiet stillness touching walls and floor and furniture. Yet there's a telling difference of age here, however subtle. While Itachi's bedroom had remained spartan and immaculate over the years of his childhood, here it seems slightly less so, a Konoha genin jacket and headband both abandoned on the tatami mats. The blanket and sheets are messier, coiled around the still shape of a body years smaller than the one Sasuke saw moments ago. Books are scattered over the desk in the corner beside a spread of notes and writing tools; these were missing in the previous memory.

Light shines under the closed door, a yellow line around its edge.

"Is Itachi all right?" comes the low, unmistakable voice of their father.

"He left his dinner. He's still lying down in his room." Their mother, in answer.

"He's a shinobi now. Teammates sometimes die in front of you."

"But he's still only eight. He should really still be playing at the Academy with his friends..."

"A testament of his talents," Fugaku says. "It's precisely because he attracted the attention of people in the village that he got assigned the mission of guarding the daimyo. And precisely because it was an important mission, it carried an element of danger. Living through the carnage time and time again is how a shinobi grows up."

The small child in bed shifts, rolling over, dragging the blanket with him. It's difficult to tell whether he's awake at a glance, but the erratic breath, pulse, and occasional movement suggest a restlessness that isn't attributed to slumber.

"Can't you get him into the Military Police and have him working under you?"

"He won't be joining the Military Police," Fugaku says to his wife, and the form on the bed twists again, turning over. "I'm thinking about his future here. He needs to keep working hard as a genin right now."

"But he's just—"

"He's fine. I'm sure he'll get over it."

The conversation between parents fades out, as though they've moved away to another point in the house. Meanwhile, the much younger version of Itachi almost thrashes in response to those final words, dragging the blanket over his head as if to escape them. Moments pass. Eventually, Itachi pushes himself upright and stares down into his own lap. His face is blotchy and worn, eyes dry and dark even as their bloodshot appearance suggests that wasn't the case until recently.

A faint ripple passes through the room, and Sasuke will see Sharingan taking root in his older brother's vision — for the first time. Itachi stares at his hands, then looks toward the wall, peering into the other room with this new vision as the landscape of the world alters around him. Itachi blinks, and his eyes return to black, then blinks again, and irises once more bleed red. The murmur that comes from the boy is almost inaudible in the silent room: "You won't beat me next time."

Here the memory again fades out, leaving Sasuke alone with no other choice but to exit again. Outside he'll find the older version of his brother lying in wait. A mask of composure on his face, Itachi only says,] That's enough, Sasuke.

[eyeforaneye]

[ The feeling of not belonging only grows that much sharper when he is placed back in that forbidden room but now with signs of his brother's humanity, improperly checked by age. The lump in the bed is small but undeniably Itachi's form, seemingly sleeping but his awareness of the memory dashes that hope. He's conscious, and when the voice of man he hasn't heard in years filters in from the hall Sasuke's standing up straighter, waging war against the lump in his throat.

Eight. Eight-years-old, a time he remembers as when his elder brother awakened his sharingan. It was always used as a metric of comparison, after all, older family members regularly tutting at him when he reached the same age with so few accomplishments to his name. All it means to him now is that Itachi suffered in a way previously unknown to him, a three-year-old no doubt already asleep and unburdened by hushed whispers.

He won't be joining the Military Police, says his father after his callous appraisal of his son's skills and dismissal of that with which he's currently wrestling. It doesn't matter what their mother thought or even what Itachi's desires were, and suddenly he's forced to remember that day he hurt his ankle and Itachi carried him past the police station. He had urged Itachi to join then too, and his brother had avoided an outright refusal. How much had he not known? He's witnessing a new side of all three members of his family that he wishes he hadn't, fist clenched when he finally forces himself to step forward.

He sits down gingerly on the edge of that bed as his brother sits up, whispering a promise to the darkness of his room with eyes shining a deep crimson. Again, he wants to touch. To comfort. And again, he can't. The expression Itachi wears is one that should never twist the features of a child and the deep ache he feels stretches past a point he's readily able to cope with, blindsided by a memory he thought he could handle but didn't know how to anticipate. He didn't know him at all.

The realization combined with what he's seen leaves his expression unguarded for a precious few seconds when he exits the mirror, for once looking all of nineteen-years-old when a briefly glassy stare meets his brother's. He says nothing as he composes himself, finally managing a quiet nod as he turns to instead rest back against the wall of that expansive room of mirrors. There's nothing he trusts himself to say, yet. ]

[anbu]

[In the wake of that silence, Itachi finds himself less certain how to proceed. It's uncomfortable to know Sasuke has visited the memories held inside of his mirror with no way to easily ascertain which ones they were. There is little within himself that he suspects would not impact his younger brother, given how few truths Itachi shared with anyone while he was still alive. All of those secrets, those hidden pieces of himself... to know Sasuke has caught some glimpse and not have any knowledge how much is maddening. Anyone else, and he would not feel such an extreme and unpleasant twist in his gut. Having his privacy invaded isn't pleasant; that it's Sasuke is much worse.

So they stand across from each other, unspeaking. If he reads anything on Sasuke's face — and of course he's looking, hunting for some hint in his brother's expression — it isn't enough of an answer.

Itachi steps carefully to stand in front of his own mirror as if barring further entry.]

What did you see?

[At least let him ease the burden of this uncertainty.]

[eyeforaneye]

[ His eyes don't bother to follow Itachi; whether he's blocking a route back into that mirror or not doesn't matter to him. He's planning no further invasion of it or of his brother's privacy, silence continuing to reign for a few minutes longer until his voice is clear and strong. Emotionless, as it should be at this point in his life. ]

I saw the truth of how things used to be. How you avoided me when we were younger just to sit by yourself at night, and how our father spoke about the awakening of your sharingan. How you reacted to those words.

I don't remember him so coldly. [ It's almost said nostalgically but that thoughtful tone is placid and misleading of its true meaning. He's learned more about him than he wanted to know and now he's wrestling with a shifted image he wasn't prepared to confront, equally struck by their mother's lack of enduring conviction. And yet... neither are surprising. Just dull aches on top of dull aches. ]

[anbu]

[The memories are not as fresh in his own mind, which is expected. He hasn't relived them. There were many nights he'd chosen to avoid his family, in particular the younger brother who hung adoringly on his every word and action—far past the point Itachi felt himself worthy of any kind of adoration. Easier to see it twisted into jealousy and resentment and, later, irrevocable hatred.

Hatred is more challenging to navigate than whatever Sasuke must feel toward him now.]

... Memories have a way of distorting themselves based on our perceptions. The actual reality of how a person was in the past may be nothing like how we recall them. [Vague, as if to avoid addressing anything at the heart of his brother's words.] That said, our relationships were different.

[Itachi looks at his own mirror, studying the details etched into it, speaking as if to the glass rather than Sasuke.] I remember the relief to have awakened the sharingan. I also remember the dread that someday you would as well. All of that seems long ago.

[eyeforaneye]

[ Heavy realizations weigh on him as he processes the reality of what he'd seen with that detached tone, and Itachi's response turns almost predictably philosophical. They were each born in cages, after all. Sasuke's was plain, dull, and rusted, but plastered with pretty pictures of a false outside world just ready to be torn away. Itachi's was gilded and fine but it was smaller, limiting, and exposed to all the harshness awaiting them. If he wanted to cope with a jailbreak, he would first have to convince himself the bars were weak enough to tackle.

Itachi's spent his whole life playing tricks on others and on himself, twisting his view of reality to suit his needs, and within every step away from objective truth there lies a lesson waiting to be bestowed upon his younger brother. Sasuke snorts quietly, eyes fixed on some distant point. ]

I saw him treating you badly. It doesn't need to be remembered one way or another to be what it still is. He sometimes treated me distantly too, but any anger I felt over that dried up long ago. This feeling is new and over something fresh... it doesn't mean I don't still love him more. [ That's why it hurts, after all. ]

Seems as though you had to make sacrifices to awaken your own sharingan and sacrifices to awaken mine.

[anbu]

[Itachi realizes, as he listens to his brother speak, they've never discussed their own father in this way. It shouldn't be as startling a realization as it is. Of course they haven't: by the time Sasuke was old enough to understand his own life and begin to untangle the complicated web of their family, Itachi had stepped into an unreachable place, deliberately distancing them. Then their father was dead. Any time after that period would be colored by the red of his own lies, ones which had taken shape in reality as soon as he had committed to them, but... even he couldn't predict the true unraveling of events.

That seems stark, now, in this dimly lit room in an entirely different world than their own. Having this conversation at all was never part of his plan — should never have been possible.

He's encountering Sasuke's maturity again. It takes a long, quiet moment to summon up a reply. Something real; deflection hasn't worked and may never again.] Father... was a complicated man. While he may have had good intentions, he was defined both by his role as the head of the clan, and by his own bitter memories of the war. I recall mostly frustration toward him in those later years. I could not understand why he would choose to pursue more violence rather than cooperate with the village, but it simply wasn't possible in his eyes. And this was reflected in the sentiment of many others at his side.

[Perhaps the vague, dream-like quality of this midnight place makes it easier to say these things, his gaze focused on the shimmering silver of his own mirror. He finds himself studying Fugaku's face on the wood.]

That night, he told me to look after you. [...] I suppose that was his dying wish. He accepted his own fate without question or fear.

[eyeforaneye]

[ Again Itachi avoids any black and white judgements laid down upon their father, but it's striking what a difference just a change in tone makes. He's not avoiding openness. He's freely sharing his feelings and the reason for their complexity is the matched complexity of the man he describes. Yes, Fugaku was a complicated man who had two complicated sons and was forced to navigate a complicated relationship between family and village. ]

... I wouldn't have expected that from him, [ he returns cautiously, taking a moment to let any emotions that statement sparks simmer, ] but I know that it's true.

[ I saw it. You showed it to me. Words he knows he needs to say, but not yet. This isn't the time for that conversation. ]

But I suppose he didn't think I could manage it on my own, and he was correct. He needed more time than he had to make sure we were both strong, and in the absence of it he gave that task to you. I had you... but you had no one. I understand better now than I used to just why he was so hard on us, but with more focus on you in particular.

[ Sasuke would always have an older brother to help. ]

[anbu]

[Sasuke's certainty in his admission isn't missed, black eyes directed sidelong in a brief determination of its validity. There is a sense that it is not his younger brother accepting his word as plain gospel for its sake alone, but all of that washes out with a single statement—I had you, but you had no one.

It wasn't always true. Once he'd had Shisui, at least until even his closest friend was taken away, but the solitude of his early life (or perhaps in more stark self-reflection, his entire life) was not something Itachi ever thought he had minded. It was simply the reality he'd chosen.

Now, standing beside his brother and speaking freely of their thoughts, he can't help but wonder if sacrificing such companionship came at a higher cost than even he had realized then.]

... Perhaps. It's easier to reflect on those actions and consider them outside the influence of the moment, now.

[The words are quieter, almost non-committal, the tone of someone bled dry of their ability to communicate so baldly. Dream or not, Itachi feels exhausted.]

don't come at me with that beautiful icon

[eyeforaneye]

I don't know if it's hindsight affording me clarity or if my perception's just stronger now than it used to be.

[ Fingers trace along the wall as he turns, suddenly, his own movements slow but measured. His own exhaustion isn't something he attempts to hide but he won't allow it to cause him to falter, gaze cutting back to his brother despite himself. ]

I'll need time to decide. [ As close to a goodbye as he believes either of them need to come, face returning to its usual mask of impassivity as he forces himself to again look away while taking his last few steps from the room. He has little doubt that those will be the most challenging memories he'll view tonight and he needs to dwell on that before he pushes his way into any others. ]